Tent Time
by Bethadots
Summary: Inquisitor Rosalie has just slain her first high dragon. Iron Bull is rather desperate to celebrate the occasion.


Iron Bull lay on his back staring up at the most magnificent view. The dragon's scales were a vibrant orange and red, and it had a roar that seemed to make the sky shake. It glared down at him with malice in its eyes, tendrils of smoke curling around its muzzle. Sure, it was about to breathe down a torrent of flame and cook him until he was blackened and crispy, but damn... what a way to go! There was a grin on his face as his hands tightened around the hilt of his blade, and he struggled - probably in vain - to get back to his feet.

Just as the dragon inhaled, the Inquisitor - who he'd been certain was flat on her back and unconscious the last time he'd looked her way - came running out from between the beast's front legs, her daggers raised above her head to slice all the way up the dragon's throat. There was a shower of blood before the beast's head fell to the ground with a thump that made the ground rumble, and Rosalie quickly brought her daggers down into the top of its skull to finish the job.

There was a moment of silence after that as the party all struggled to clamber to their feet and regain their breath. Then Rosalie found the strength to ask, "Is everyone all right?"

Varric dusted off the shoulders of his jacket then checked Bianca for damage. "Oh, fine. Just so long as we're not trying that again any time soon."

Solas' clothes were a little singed and he had more than a few cuts and bruises, but he was in one piece and not bleeding too badly.

"Thanks for getting me back on my feet," Rosalie said sincerely, handing the mage their last potion.

"Thank you for killing the dragon before it turned us to soot," he replied with stiff politeness that coming from anyone else would have seemed out of place considering they'd nearly all just died.

Iron Bull hadn't said a word since he'd seen Rosalie make the kill. He'd barely moved, in fact. And currently he was staring at her, mesmerized by the sight and the memory of what he'd just seen.

"Are you all right, Bull?" she asked him.

"Oh, umm... yeah. Better than all right. I could use a rest though. In a tent." He glanced unsubtly from Varric to Solas, and then gave Rosalie a very pointed look. " _And so could you_. Camp is back this way, right?"

She giggled at that. "But I'm all dirty..."

"Doesn't matter. That's... That's not a problem." He scratched the top of his head as he regarded her again, then abruptly scooped her up in his arms and began to carry her back towards the camp at a hurried pace. He didn't even notice Varric and Solas exchanging glances and trying not to chuckle behind him before they began to follow as well.

"Shouldn't we... I don't know... gather up some resources?" asked Rosalie. "Dragon scales are valuable."

"You're the Inquisitor. _Delegate_ ," he insisted.

Soon enough, they'd arrived back at camp, having at least dipped themselves in a nearby stream to get the worst of the dragon's blood off. Bull almost bowled over the Inquisition scout who had stopped to greet them. He was _far_ too focused on getting Rosalie straight into one of the tents and laying her down on a bedroll.

There wasn't time to speak. Just taking the time to peel her out of her soaked leathers seemed like torture in that moment. All the same, he kissed her flesh as he exposed it, paying extra attention to all the places he'd learned that she was particularly sensitive, taking his time to let a proper fire build. No teasing. No ropes or ribbons or chains. No making her ask him for what she wanted. It was his way of expressing how damn proud of her he was, not to mention how tight she'd made his trousers feel. Just when he couldn't take it any more, he undid his belt and freed his erection, then straightened up ready to thrust into her.

Only there was an unexpected sound as Iron Bull straightened up: the sound of ripping fabric.

His eyes widened as he glanced up and realized his horns had torn the canvas of the tent and were currently poking out of the top of it.

Rosalie stared up at him in disbelief. "Are you, umm…?"

Bull tried to duck his head back down, then realized that he couldn't. A quick glance to the side confirmed that his horns had disappeared through the fabric. "Stuck? Yeah…" he groaned, trying to wiggle himself free. "And you just _know_ Varric is going to put this in one of his stories."

Her lips twitched, and he quickly realized she was holding back her true response to his predicament. "You _can_ laugh, you know?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" The inevitable laugh made her whole face crinkle. She laughed so hard her eyes began to water. Bull couldn't help but chuckle too, though he had to admit he was quietly captivated seeing her react so freely, so naturally. He doubted that laugh was something anyone else in the Inquisition had been permitted to hear.

In time, the laughter faded and Bull managed to work himself free, but not without dealing some further damage to the tent that made the ceiling bow strangely in the middle. Finally, he flopped down beside her on the bedroll and sighed. "Not _quite_ what I had in mind…"

Smiling, Rosalie touched a hand to his cheek, then pulled herself up and over until she was straddling him. "Aren't people with Ben-Hassrath training supposed to be able to adapt to any situation?" she asked in a lower voice, leaning forwards to tap a finger to his nose.

Say what you would about the Inquisitor, she definitely knew how to stop something unexpected from killing the mood, he'd learned. "Yeah, but you make it… _hard."_ He grinned up at her, certain that she would feel something prodding her below and know that she still held his desperate interest.

As his hands settled on her hips, Rosalie's settled on his forearms and she leaned into him for balance as she rolled her hips, her lower lips brushing against his erection. "Poor Bull," she teased.

His hands tightened their grip and he fought the urge to simply thrust himself inside. Then his gaze shifted up to meet hers and he caught that little twinkle of mischief in her eyes. She was goading him. She knew exactly how the sight of her killing that dragon had affected him, and was using it to her full advantage.

Smile softening, he smoothed his hands up her torso and circled his thumbs around her nipples, enjoying the way it made her shiver in his grasp. Then he pulled her down onto his length slowly, inch by inch, captivated by the sight of her eyes closing and her head tipping back as she moaned out her approval.

"Look at me, boss," he urged in a whisper, and her eyelids fluttered back open so that their gazes met just at the moment when he was fully inside her.

The ropes, the games, the exchange of power… those were all fun. Sometimes they were necessary; both to relieve Rosalie of the pressures of leadership and to remind Bull that even without the Qun to live by, he could have discipline and control. Sometimes they were necessary, but not always.

It could be about just the two of them as well. It could be about _feelings_ , though they'd both pretended for a while now that it was only about sex. It could be about the adoration he held for the fierce little rogue thrown into a role that her life had never prepared her for. A woman who was brave in the face of everything, whose intelligence turned him on as much as her undeniable beauty.

Not daring to sit up and risk ripping more of the tent with his horns, he pulled her down until their lips met for a kiss, cupping the nape of her neck as he sought her tongue with his own.

"Do I have permission to ride the Bull?" she asked as their lips parted.

He chuckled, then teased his tongue along the sensitive outline of her reddened lips. "Always."

* * *

 _ **Author note:**_ _If you liked Rosalie and Iron Bull, you can read more about them in my fic, Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed._


End file.
